Time Twister
by Runny Purple Ink
Summary: After the war, everyone involved is ordered to keep it quiet. Of course, these orders don't stop the next generation from being nosy. Journals are found, elders are questioned, and when a time turner falls into one of their hands, oh the problems!
1. Prologue & Of Pasts and Futures

Disclaimer: OK, I'm a procrastinator. If I owned Harry Potter, we wouldn't even have book two  
yet.

Author's note:  
Hey! This is my first posted story ever :)

Sure, I write all the time, but I've decided to do something different and post this here and see  
what people think.

Enjoy!

* * *

First Person Point of View: 

My life started out just like any other.

OK, so I lie. Nothing about you can be normal when as an adolescent your father beat one of  
the worst wizards known to wizard-kind and your mother was his best gal pal.

I was not privy to most of the knowledge of that part in the past, though. So don't go thinking  
that I was up to date and down with all there was to know. No.

It was a chapter of the world that the people who populated it just wanted to disappear. This  
wasn't just the decision of the people who ran the world at the time, nor was it the decision of  
just the people who lost their loved ones in the terrible battle. It was a uniform decision.

Encouraged largely by Ministries of Magic around the world, sure, but beyond that there were  
professors who didn't want it in their classrooms, young survivors who didn't want it in their  
homes, and battle veterans who did not want it haunting every corner of their mind.

Everyone decided to wait several decades for the air to clear, and then it would be added to  
every school textbook in Flourish and Blotts. Memoirs would be released by the thousands, most  
likely. Journals would surface, movies would be made, and heroes would be found. A new breath of  
life would be given to everything lurking out there and it could be looked upon in a new light.

And, hopefully at that later date, those directly involved and their children would, for the most  
part, have moved on in their lives and not be brought down.

Who am I you ask? How do I fit into all of this? Well, I don't. I happen to be a member of the  
next generation. The generation born in the months after it was all over. The generation that is  
referred to, informally of course, as 'the stupid generation'.

My name is Charity. Charity Lalaine Lilly Prewett, child of Harry Prewett and Hermione Prewett.  
Very thin and lanky, and told I'm rather skittish which is not the best thing considering how nosy

I am. I am rather introverted when it comes to large groups, but in a small group I can be  
surprisingly upbeat and energetic.

I got my father's knack for defencive spells and hexes, and I gained my mother's book smarts.  
Sorted into Gryffindor first year, I took the school by storm just as any first year would. OK, OK,  
so I was nervous, scared, and worried. But I took it all in stride.

I found my interests right off of the bat. I found my calling in history. ACK, no, though; not  
History of Magic, yeegads no. I wanted to know about the war. Nobody was supposed to know  
about it, but of course we would know little bits. The half a second snippit you heard before  
your parents shut the door, or that look that would pass between them that instantly said they  
were recalling something, together, that you were supposed to know nothing about. But,  
between all, you were to know that no words were to be spoken.

Oh how I wanted to know more.

But, really, the only thing I knew: I was a green-eyed, short child with mousy-brown hair that  
falls down in spiral curls and gets tangled in the frames of my glasses.

And that was all I knew. That's all I was supposed to know. Ignorance is bliss, and so it was.

* * *

You like it? Oh boy do I hope so! Read and review! 

OR! If there is something you'd maybe like to see, review and tell me about it! I might put it  
in :D

RunnyPurpleInk


	2. Chapter 1 & Of Charity and Kristin

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter would I be writing fanfiction?  
Oh, but I own charity 'cause she's totally me.  
Oh, and Kristin totally owns herself. Or, well, at least she thinks she does. Really, Tony owns  
her, but that's a story for another fiction. ;)

Author's Note:

Chapter 2! Yay! I get to stick in some dialogue! That makes chapters so much longer.

* * *

As the sun rose early in the morning, it oozed up over hedges, over pristine lawns, up the bricks  
and into the Prewett family house. It rolled down the wall and crept across the floor before  
sliding over not one, but two sleeping figures.

The first, a smallish girl with mousy-brown, curled hair, was sprawled upside-down across her  
comforter with her hair splayed over the side of the bed and spilling onto the floor. Glasses  
dangling dangerously, threatening to fall of and smash on the floor, Charity slept soundly.

Not even the various books that were strewn across the bed - some half under her, some  
scattered from head board to foot board, some dangling off of the sides threatening to overflow  
on the rug below, and some already there and waiting for others to join - bothered her in the least.

The other figure was a taller girl with long, straight blond hair. Only this figure - Kristin - was  
much better at keeping herself tidy while sleeping. Sure, she was lying face-down on the rug,  
spread-eagled, with her nose planted firmly in the spine of a book, but her hair was pleated  
neatly and lying across her back, and while some books were lying open around her, she wasn't  
sleeping atop any of them.

The books appeared to be about just about anything you could possibly imagine. Splayed across  
pages were endless amounts of winding text and pictures of everything from bloody battlegrounds  
to ghosts. Across large, heather-bound front covers are pictures of various people - some of whom  
are snoozing silently, having re-arranged the title letters to form comfortable sleeping furniture. Some  
of the people on the covers are reading, and some of them are missing altogether only to appear in  
other books speaking about who knows what.

But, of course, life would be rampantly boring if this was all that went on. The sun is up and the  
world slowly beings to creep into life bit by bit. Charity and Kristin snooze on blissfully, but one  
fine-looking young gentleman on the cover of a red book with gold page trim, snorts loudly in his  
sleep and rolls over. Of course, though, since he is only a photograph in a book nothing happens.

However, the snorting dives deep into Kristin's brain and she rolls over so her left cheek is  
pressed into the text of the book. And, in rolling over, her legs move, she kicks a book, it slides  
across the floor, hits another book which collides into a stack of two books which tap the post of  
Charity's bead ever-so-slightly. But this ever-so-slight-ness is more than enough to dislodge the  
book featuring the young gentleman from his spot nestled in the bedclothes and send him  
careening towards the floor.

Oh and as he slides, the books wedged above him slide. And as those slide, a whole avalanche  
just takes off and what seems like half the books on Charity's bed all slide off and smack the  
floor in a series of loud BANGs.

Charity flies into an upright position and sleepily shouts, 'Boris the Bewildered was NOT stranded  
on an Island in Paris!' as she throws her arms up into the air. Unfortunately, Charity's bed is not  
large enough for her to sit sideways and flail. Her butt slides off of the side of the bed and she  
lands on her back, on the floor. But she had far too much momentum to finish there. The slant  
left by the book avalanche creates a fabulous ramp and she rolls backwards, does a perfect  
summersault and lands right on top of Kristin.

And, well, if by some miracle Kristin had not woken up during the series of loud BANGs, she is  
definitely awake now.

'Ooof' Well if that wasn't the most intelligent statement of the morning, I honestly don't know  
what is. Of course, Kristin can not be too terribly coherent when she is being smothered by a  
human with long, curly hair at an unbelievably early hour of the morning. Not that Charity has  
any idea, at all, what is going on.

'I can't see.' Charity states as she blinks owlishly at the room, not staring at anything in  
particular. 'I must have lost my glasses when I fell.' Charity takes the title of captain obvious for  
the morning. 'And I think I got a rug burn on my nose.'

'Well, if you would move, I will look for your glasses.' Kristin replies in an irritated, but still light  
tone as she pushes Charity off without the other girl's consent. Not that Charity minds, she can't  
see well enough to have known where to go. Kristin stands and makes a show out of dusting off  
her pajama pants and stretching out her morning kinks before she looks around for the glasses.

Charity just scowls playfully - in the wrong direction.

'You landed on them.' Is the final conclusion as a particularly mangled and incredibly mushed pair  
of spectacles are dangled inches from Charity's face.

'Well, there's only one way to fix them.' Pause. 'DAAAAAAAADDDDYYYY' And Charity snatches  
away her glasses, springs from her seat on the floor, and dashes out through her bedroom door.  
Now, Charity knows her house well, but she is blind as all get-out. She goes hurtling down the  
hall, gets her toes caught in a rug, skis down the stairs mostly on her face, and lands on her  
bottom at the foot of the stairs, face to face with her father.

'Fix my glasses?'

And this is only the first fifteen minutes of the day.

* * *

Review, please! 


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